Justice
by Catalytic Boom
Summary: Being the hero means to bring criminals to justice, right? A one-shot story of America taking his faith into extreme to ensure the safety of his people. Rated M for character death and for safety. Snapped!America


Justice

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><p>I'm not mad. People say that I am. Those people are mad. Not me. They don't seem to understand that what I'm doing is right. Murderers getting murdered, thieves getting their lives stolen, terrorists being blown up. It's justice. <em>My <em>justice. The sweet scent of it drives me wild. Pride bursts in my chest as I think of my deeds. I am not the villain. I'm the hero.

Some can't seem to accept it though. They say it's wrong, sinful and given to those undeserving of my cruel attention. I am merely cleaning things up a bit, helping people see where crime gets you. I want no liars in my country. I want no murderers, rapists, drug-addicts. Crime ruins my reputation. Justice clears my name. My country is supposed to be free. I will help it.

Why do other nations let their criminals go free? Shouldn't they be trying to keep their people safe and their villains dead?

Russia laughs at me. That communist bastard. He claims that I am weak, pathetic and will be crushed under his _glorious_ power. I wonder what happens when I decide to give him a little justice. Pipes only defend you so much. I could have gotten him much sooner but that damned creepy stalker of his got in my way. Belarus? Now, she is insane. She lingers in the communist's shadow, aiming a knife at anyone who gives her brother a dirty look. Pathetic. It took me a while to write that letter. I tried to make it as convincing as possible. Ha! I can't wait to see her face when she realises that it wasn't a proposal from Russia. She'll turn on him. I'm counting on it.

With her out of the picture, my chance came. He was sitting all alone in his little study, oblivious to my intentions. Some claim I am the strongest country. It's true and I have **always** been the strongest. Nobody will get in my way of justice. Definitely not Russia. I could hear him whistling some disturbing brief tune. Russians for you. My skin is crawling with disgust. The snow outside has made goosebumps jump out of my skin. Ugh. Why did I bother coming here? The sound of the lullaby, or whatever the hell it is, broke me from my trance and then I realised.

My fingers curled around the wooden door frame, a smirk on my face. I could feel the weight of my trusty pistol on my hip. I almost jumped in surprise when the phone on his desk started to ring obnoxiously. I scowled at it for distracting me. How dare it? Troubling me like that. I regained my straight posture, my hand still clutched to the door-frame as my eyes took in the cramped room. Brown bookshelves, simple carpet, auburn walls. So very bland. At least I had more style than this commie. The large windows revealed the outdoors. So much snow. Ugh. I hate winter.

The communist was wearing his trade (boring) coat, that scarf (that I'm certain he showers with. Ahh! Get that image out of my head. I almost bang my head on the wall but resist the urge to. I just stare at him in pure hatred) and the leather gloves that reach out for the black ringing phone. Awesome. He's distracted.

"_Allo?_" That voice. So babyish and quiet. How can anybody stand it? My knees start to shake. Stop it! Why does he have to be so creepy? No! I can't lose my bottle now. Heart racing and shivering, I take a nervous step forward.

No. I am the hero. Heroes are never afraid. My eyes narrowed in anger as I locked onto his figure that was turned away from me. My fingers danced above my hip, gingerly touching the pistol. I came here for a reason. Justice.

"_Kak dela__?_" His voice was so infuriating. My hands were shaking now. _Get a grip, Alfred!_ I glanced at my obvious reflection in the window. I almost winced when I realised that if he looked up, he would see me. Fortunately, his eyes were focused on the paper in front of him, his fingers curled around the telephone. What colour was his hair anyway? Grey? White? I never could tell but to be honest, I didn't care. I'm the hero. My appearance is more important than any other.

Frantically, I took another few baby steps towards him. My breathing was almost silent. I didn't want to alert him. I knew he was strong. Where was my adrenaline? I was motivated to come here through rage and the luscious thought of justice.

Communist bastard.

My eyes narrowed again, my hand gripped on to the gun. There it was. I suddenly felt the flow of adrenaline, mixed with rage, fuel my movements as I lifted the weapon. I cocked it, smirking. Communist bastard. Communist bastard. Communist bastard! The words fuelled my fury, causing me to edge closer.

"_Vyzdoravlivaj skoree!_" **Communist bastard! **The cracking sound of the bullet being fired brought me back from the hatred-filled trance. My eyes widened as Russia's head lifted in shock. The loud bang almost deafened me and it was no wonder that Russia had heard it. His eyes located my reflection in the window.

"Oh crap!" I declared. I tried to lean forward, do anything to stop it. No! I was being reckless. Even if I hated Russia with a passion, he had been an ally to me at some points. I had been scared he would take my land but he was a nation too. He didn't deserve this justice!

I fell to my knees when he screamed in agony. Shit. I looked up, tears in my eyes, a pain in my chest, to see him slumped against his chair. I got back up again, my knees wobbling. Carefully, I walked in front of him and gasped. His pale eyes were open, the colour dulling down and turning glassy. A trail of blood flowed from the top of his forehead, where the bullet had fired through. Shit. Shit. Shit! I had killed him.

I put my head in my hands, letting out a disgruntled wail. **Shit! **The gun fell from my fingers, landing on the floor with a soft thud. Guilt roared in my stomach and I felt myself fall to my knees again. I had killed him.

_He deserved it. _My eyes opened up again when that thought entered my mind. What? Lifting my hands from my face, I studied the dead figure in front of me. A grin broke out on my face. He deserved it! I was not a murderer! His pale face was coated in blood now, shock making his face look even uglier. Communist bastard! He deserved it. I did the best thing. I'm the hero! Justice! That's what I did. Justice. Not murder. Justice!

Shaking with laughter now, I stood back up and studied him even more. His mouth had popped open. Everything that had once came out of there was a filthy lie. I looked around the room, frowning in confusion. Damn. I dropped my gun. Picking it up, I checked it cautiously. Did I expect it to have blood on it? For some reason, I did. Nothing was on it though. What a relief.

I glanced towards Russia's drooping face again. Communist bastard! I let out a dark chuckle as I advanced on him. The blood looked delicious. Wait, what? It had flowed down his face, one of his eyes being drenched in it. I didn't feel nauseous. It was beautiful. The blood was rich, silky and the deepest shade of red I had ever seen. Who knew that something so gorgeous could come from this communist bastard? My gloved fingers hovered in front of his covered nose. I was tempted. What would his blood taste like? It smelt metallic, the scent of it making my heart race. My cheeks flushed at the sudden spurt of arousal that flooded through me. My hands started to shake and my bottom lip wobbled. I winced at the repetitive crashes of lust in my stomach. I wanted to taste it.

The desire took over me as I ran my finger along his nose. He didn't deserve this blood. It was mine now. Delicious, beautiful blood. Let it be mine. I popped it in my mouth after it started to water. I let the strange new taste explore my taste buds. I groaned at the sensation. It was better than any hamburger or hot dog. Copper burst in my mouth and there was something silky there. My eyes closed as my tongue hungrily lapped at my blood-coated finger. This was my reward.

Footsteps suddenly brought my attention back on my surroundings. Shit. I forgot that Russia doesn't live alone. I just stared helplessly at the dancing blood on his face. Heroes are never greedy. They sacrifice their treasures and that is what I must do. I am the hero and I will sacrifice his blood. The taste of it left an imprint on my tongue. A desire for more.

Ignoring my thirst, I spun the gun around in my fingers in a talented manner before gripping it on to my holster. I had to leave before I was caught. I saved the world from one threat but more was to come. I needed the blo-... The justice. I needed the justice!

I ran from the room, leaving my desires behind. My boots were heavy against the wooden floorboards of the corridors. I could hear others approaching and my heart started to pump up again with adrenaline. I loved this feeling. The thrill, the excitement, the determination! My breathing grew quicker, a bit of sweat trickling from the top of my forehead. It was starting to get a little harder to see out of Texas, the corridor walls closing in on me then bouncing away rapidly. Ugh.

Out of breath, I fell back on to the wall, hand on my face. My heart wouldn't stop racing and an ache was building in my side. I had forgotten that Russia has a big house. Oh. _Had_. I lifted my head up again as the realisation started to sink in again. Russia was dead. Dead. _Dead. _I would never see him again and that was one enemy to stop worrying about. One more criminal put to justice.

When did I start running again?

I closed in on the window, knowing it was my only escape at the moment when yelling rang in my ears. They found his body. They were looking for the killer. Me. Aren't killers the bad guys? No, I'm the hero. Always have been, always will be. People will praise me for my heroic efforts. I will cleanse this world of crime. I launched at the window and felt the glass sink into my sky. It broke from my weight and I smashed through, flying towards the ground. I reached out my hand just in time for a rope to replace thin air. Looking up, I grabbed on to it and swung sideways. A helicopter. My rescue. Sighing in relief, I pulled myself the rope ladder, exhausted.

I collapsed on to the helicopter's floor, my breath loud and impatient. "Mr. America!"

Grinning, I leaned forward slowly to see my rescuers. One of my people that had flown me here. He had awesome timing! "Yeah! Thanks for that, man. You saved my ass."

"I saw you jump out of the window and flew it as fast I could," the pilot replied loudly, his voice almost being cut off from the sharp cries of the blades that levitated the helicopter. He tugged harder at the controls and lifted the helicopter higher. Another man, who was holding the rope ladder, pulled it up with a determined grimace. The cold air whipped at us but I kept my cool.

"Great timing."

I huddled in the corner of the helicopter, a blanket wrapped around my shivering body. My eyes were probably duller than normal as I thought of the bullet firing and shooting through his brain. I smirked. He deserved it.

A taste of his blood made the trip worthwhile. Any guilt I felt was replaced with pride. I did it for my people. I did it for the world. But the world was not cured yet. I frowned as I thought of the list of enemies. Everyone would be free if I was in charge. If the whole world become one with America. Now I see why Russia wanted to dominate so many people. He did it wrong though. He took the nations, I killed them. The people automatically become one with me.

The two men aboard were silent but the sound of the blades flooded in my ears. I could still taste the copper on my tongue. I needed more. Blood would be my reward for freeing the world. Whose blood would be better than that of a nation? I almost drooled at the thought of England squirming in my grip. His green eyes shining with pain and welling with tears. His pale skin covered in my dominance. Scratches, bruises, cuts. I began to feel that arousal again. It was like an alarm, something that you paid all attention to. The slicing of his neck, releasing a pool of his delicious blood. I would lick it off my fingertips, watching as his life slipped away.

I shook my head of these mad thoughts. Wait, mad? No, I'm definitely not mad. I couldn't just kill him without a reason. Ahh! The independence. He was always pissed off about that, abused me mentally. Insulting me insults my country. He is an enemy. He deserves to die and by my hands. My fists clenched as I got an image of me shoving him against a wall, ripping his shirt off. I bit into his neck, rubbing his thigh. I shivered with desire. Then I would take a cup of steaming hot tea. Take one of his spoons and spin it around the disgusting liquid. It would heat up the spoon then I would press it against his cheek.

He would yelp in pain, call me all types of insults. His eyes would well up even more with tears and I would leave a permanent mark on him. I could feel the heat of the spoon embrace me lovingly. I would press the burning spoon everywhere on his body then I would pour the boiling tea on him. He would scream in grief and my arousal would build. His thick, blonde hair would be drenched in tea, his skin peeling with burns.

Ahh, justice. I would find a knife and with the most deadliest smirks ever, I would draw a line across his neck, letting beads of blood become present. Then I would lick them off delicately, the taste of them turn me on more. I would warn him once before slicing his neck, killing him instantly.

He would deserve it. He tormented as a child and as an adult so he is an enemy of America. _My _enemy. The world would be better off without him.

What about his brothers? Scotland, Wales, Ireland and Northern Ireland. All enemies. All villains. All threats. They would die. I am stronger than everyone. I am the hero.

China? He would die. Japan? He was cool but he was part of the axis so he would die too. Shame. Germany? Die. Die. Die. Italy? I wonder if his blood tastes like pasta. France? Hm, wine. Maybe rosy. Spain? Tomatoes? Canada? Who? Cuba? I don't like the sound of his blood but he is a threat to my people and must die anyway. Belarus? She is nothing without her brother. Ukraine? Hm, I might keep her alive. She could become a pet.

These thoughts thrilled me. My gun was buzzing in anticipation to be used. I will save my people. I will save the world.

See? I'm not mad. I'm the hero. I'm **justice**.

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><p>Wow, I love writing intense horror stuff~ America sounds so badass there, well, to me anyway.<p>

A dedication to my love of Hetalia, and even though America isn't my most favourite character, I still couldn't see this type of story being used with any other characters. I like the idea of him snapping but using his heroism as an excuse. Sorry if he's masterly out of character, I tried my best.

(I did write it in about 2 hours and have just finished it so~... And I couldn't be bothered reading it over again. =.=)

I hope you like it~

Russian: (I used a site with Russian phrases, so hopefully they're okay.)

_Allo: _Hello (On the phone)

_Kak dela?_: How are you? (Informal)

_Vyzdoravlivaj skoree_: Get well soon (Informal)

I (unforunately) do not own Hetalia. Hetalia belongs to Himaruya Hidekazu_._


End file.
